A chill ran through his heart, almost as if there was a ghost standing behind him. He hurriedly turned his head to look, but apart from a man-height mirror hanging on the wall, there was nothing there. So why was this young man staring so intently, and why was his gaze so strange?

Suddenly, a wave of cold swept up his spine. He’d heard that those who survive great disasters can sometimes see strange things—like white light, ghosts, and such. Could it be that this young man was also seeing something supernatural?

All at once, he heard the young man on the bed shout, “What have you done to me?”

What was that across from him? A bronze mirror? No, it couldn’t be—a bronze mirror couldn’t reflect every hair in such detail. He’d heard that only overseas, in Persia, did they have such strange mirrors. Normally, he saw his own reflection in bronze mirrors and the like. This thing was so rare, how could there just be one hanging here so casually?

But what shocked Eric Foster wasn’t the rarity of the mirror, but the reflection inside it. Even though he knew he was badly injured, and even though the young man on the bed in the mirror was wrapped up like a mummy, Eric Foster recognized at a glance—that wasn’t him!

If it wasn’t him, then why did the mirror reflect everyone else perfectly, but only his own reflection had changed? If the reflection really was himself, then he was definitely not Eric Foster!

If he wasn’t Eric Foster, then who was he?

“Who am I?! Matthew Bennett, come out!” Everyone’s hearts pounded wildly. Dr. Smith was stunned for a moment, then suddenly turned and shouted, “Nurse, prepare a sedative!”

Helen Carter and Ping Brooks were both frozen in place, unable to react. Eric Foster let out a cold, wild laugh: “Well done, Matthew Bennett. Even if you turn me into a vengeful ghost, I will never let you go.” But inside, he felt lost, with even more questions. Now that Matthew Bennett had the upper hand, why hadn’t he shown himself yet?

Suddenly, he noticed a woman walking quickly toward him, holding a strange object in her hand—transparent like crystal, with liquid flowing inside. Eric Foster was startled and shouted coldly, “What are you doing?”

The nurse was taken aback, not understanding what he said, but Dr. Smith was already behind her, saying, “Quick.” The nurse didn’t hesitate any longer and jabbed the needle in. Eric Foster only felt a slight sting in his arm, and in an instant, a wave of drowsiness swept over him. He was shocked—poisoned needle? But not only was this body not his own, even the Nine Farewells Eighteen Partings technique he had painstakingly cultivated was gone. In that case, how could he resist the poison invading his body?

He heard the middle-aged woman beside him anxiously say, “Ping, what’s wrong with Ethan? What should we do?”

His consciousness grew fuzzy. Ethan? I am Ethan? Then who is Eric Foster?

The young man on the bed’s gaze gradually became vacant and unfocused, his head slowly drooping. Finally, he slumped weakly to the side, but his last glance fell on a calendar at the head of the bed: August 24, 2002, the Year of the Horse!

The year 2002? What year is this? Who am I? He shouted in his heart, but his lips were too weak to open. He let out a mosquito-like moan, and once again, the young man sank into endless silence!

Dr. Smith’s expression finally returned to normal. This young man was most likely suffering from a mental disorder. He glanced at the The Brooks Couple beside him but still couldn’t bring himself to say it.

Tugging at his wife’s sleeve, Ping Brooks and his wife followed behind Dr. Smith. As soon as the hospital room door closed, Ping Brooks couldn’t wait to ask, “Doctor, what’s wrong with my son?”

“Well…” Dr. Smith thought to himself, it was probably a car accident that injured the brain and caused mental issues. But as a doctor, making a rash diagnosis without examination was certainly unethical and could easily cause trouble. Some family members might be reasonable, but others might start an argument on the spot. “We need to observe for a while and run detailed tests before we can draw any conclusions.”

“Ping, what should we do?” Helen Carter looked anxiously at her husband. At this moment, he was undoubtedly her pillar of support.

Sighing, Ping Brooks comforted his wife, “It’s alright. I think Ethan was probably just overly frightened by the car accident, which caused his speech to become abnormal.”

But in his heart, a trace of doubt arose. Judging by his son’s eyes and behavior, it didn’t seem like mental illness. Suddenly, he shivered. Yesterday was the Ghost Festival—could his son be possessed by a ghost, as the legends say? But Ping Brooks was an atheist and found the idea absurd, so he shook his head and pushed the thought aside.

But if it wasn’t possession, how could he explain his son’s behavior?

“Dr. Smith, isn’t Dr. Sullivan on duty today?” Ping Brooks still had great trust in Dr. Sullivan. His son had been severely injured in the accident, but even so, Dr. Sullivan had managed to save him. Let alone this minor trouble now.

As for the current Dr. Smith, he knew his medical skills were definitely not as good as Dr. Sullivan’s. In fact, to family members, which doctor was truly skilled was something they sensed more keenly than any hospital title evaluation.